


An Interview of Sorts

by Katsuko



Series: 750 Words to Say [1]
Category: Dark Knight (2008)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arkham Asylum, Assassins & Hitmen, Gen, Mental Institutions, Prison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-01
Updated: 2013-07-01
Packaged: 2017-12-16 17:39:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/864786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katsuko/pseuds/Katsuko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the past ten weeks, the Joker has had twice-weekly sessions with one of Arkham's brightest young psychiatrists. Maybe he'll tell her how he really got his scars some day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Interview of Sorts

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place in a universe where the Joker could have feasibly continued to be a pain in Gotham's collective ass. However, real life happens in horrible ways sometimes so we'll never really know what might have come in the third installment of the series if Heath was still around.

The man seated at the table, clad in an orange prison jumpsuit, offered the woman across from him what he seemed to think was a charming smile. The guard standing at the door didn't look terribly impressed; the woman simply watched him with her pale blue eyes.  
  
After a moment, the woman pushed her glasses up and opened the folder before her. "Good afternoon once again, Mr. Joker."  
  
The Joker continued with his probably charming smile. He did so miss his makeup, but his scars seemed to make the guards uncomfortable even without... _accenting_ them. "And good day to you as well, doctor. How have you been since our last talk?"  
  
"Well enough," the doctor replied. "Has anything changed since our last discussion?"  
  
"Well," the man trailed off, eyes darting towards the guard, the only one in the room this time with them but still armed. "I've been having trouble sleeping at night. There's just too many _crazy_ people in here, making so much noise all the time." He leaned forward conspiratorially and asked, "Think there's any way to prescribe a little something to help block 'em all out, doc?"  
  
The woman quirked one eyebrow at him and glanced at the folder. "I'm afraid that I'm not permitted to prescribe anything other than anti-psychotics, Mr. Joker," she said evenly, "and according to your last exam notes, you have insisted that you aren't in need of those. I would have to get a medical professional to prescribe sleeping pills to you."  
  
The Joker hummed, leaning back in his seat and glancing back at the guard. Damn, he was still here. "Do you want to know how I got these scars, Dr. Q?"  
  
"You've told me four different stories of how you were scarred in these past ten weeks," the woman replied, glancing up at him for a moment before returning her attention to the notes before her. "One mentioning your father, another a non-existent wife, a third from the Batman, and a fourth from a _dog bit_ e of all things." She flipped the folder closed and rested her hands on the table. "If you don't mind my saying so, you haven't told one true account of the event since you arrived in Arkham.  
  
"What I think you are, Mr. Joker," she continued, interlinking her fingers on top of the folder, "is an _artist._ But you don't create with pen and paper, or with paint and canvas. You create with the verbal and visual, creating your world as you see fit without any regard for those caught in the crossfire."  
  
The Joker tilted his head and watched the shrink seated across from him, considering her words. Dr. Helen Quincy had first been part of a team of psychiatrists who had been assigned to Arkham Asylum in the aftermath of Crane's rampage, and they worked as a group to diagnose and interview those patient who were sent their way. Quincy was an intern, and had been the only person who the Joker decided to address in the initial interview.  
  
Once the team realized that the only one who could get anything out of the man was their youngest member, she had started to do one-on-one sessions with him twice a week. In the beginning she had been accompanied by one other doctor and a team of six guards. Over the course of the past ten weeks the other doctor had stopped sitting in entirely somewhere in the fifth week and the number of guards had decreased to just one, and they alternated out on which one would accompany Quincy to her interviews.  
  
This guard was someone whom the Joker hadn't seen since there were still two guards on the rotation.  
  
He smiled at the woman and leaned forward again, letting his hands rest lightly on the table; the doctor was no threat to him and he wasn't sure if it would be possible to take the guard out since he hadn't had time to study him at length. "You, Dr. Q, are a flatterer," he said smoothly. "I'm not an artist, no. No. As I have said before, twice, I am just an agent of chaos. I do what I do because... well, basically because I feel like it. I wouldn't know what to do if I got everything I wanted," he added with a wild chuckle.  
  
Quincy smiled warmly, leaning back and letting her hands drop into her lap. She was comfortable and calm in his presence. "I think you are who you are, Mr. Joker," she said. "And that you aren't taken as a serious risk. These interviews aren't even filmed. The only information comes from the notes I take while sitting in with you," and the Joker noted absently that she hadn't written down a single word since they'd started the session, "and from the tape recorder I keep in my purse. They only leave one guard with me because they know you aren't going to hurt me."  
  
"And why would they think that, doc?" he couldn't help but ask, even as he knew that it was true. The doctor was just someone to kill a little bit of time with, an ear to bend while he plotted out how to escape and go back to doing what he did best.  
  
"Because in ten weeks you haven't even voiced a threat to me," Quincy replied, her expression still set as an easy smile. "I've been sitting here for twenty straight days with you, my chaperones dwindling down to just one armed guard. But I'm glad I have been so patient, because it's been nice to talk to someone who understands that the world isn't fair, that it doesn't owe us any favors. And my patience has paid off, because now I can do what I've been paid to do."  
  
The Joker opened his mouth to ask what she was being paid for if it wasn't to try and get him to share his feelings, only to abruptly snap his mouth shut when Quincy twisted in her seat, pulled a pistol equipped with a silencer from her handbag and shot the guard by the door between the eyes. As the guard dropped the the floor, the doctor slipped the gun back into her purse and started to gather up her materials.  
  
"You," he finally settled on, "are not a shrink."  
  
"I'm an assassin," she confirmed, carefully slipping the folder with his psychiatric information into her bag and standing easily. "And before you ask, my name isn't Helen Quincy either."  
  
"So what is it then? I'm curious," he added when the assassin shot him a look.  
  
"Don't have one, really," she said, slipping off her glasses and putting them in her bag as well. "My clients know me as Harlequin, and that's good enough for me." She glanced over at the dead guard and quirked an eyebrow at the Joker again. "Are you coming or not?"  
  
The man didn't hesitate to look a gift horse in the mouth, moving to strip the body and replace his lovely jumpsuit with the uniform. "Who's paying you to spring me?" he asked, tugging the cap low over his face and flipping up the color to better disguise his identity.  
  
Harlequin smirked. "No one," she said. "I just like your style. Now let's go. The guard usually escorts me to my car when I leave. Gotham is just so _dangerous_ these days, what with the Batman on the run from the law."  
  
The Joker shot the assassin another grin, opening the door and bowing her through first. "You mind if I call you Harley?"

**Author's Note:**

> Yep, Helen Quincy = Harley Quinn because what the hell kind of name is Harleen Quinzel anyway? A fake one for someone hiding her real identity, that's what kind.
> 
> Also, my Harley is portrayed by Amanda Seyfried because reasons.


End file.
